


Water Under the Bridge

by SARA_CAP



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-22 06:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19662178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SARA_CAP/pseuds/SARA_CAP
Summary: When a run of the mill argument goes too far, Sherlock's PTSD flares and John is forced to reflect on his past behaviour.Takes place post Series 4





	1. Chapter 1

John had been walking briskly for over an hour when he finally saw him. A lone, dark figure standing on the bridge. The adrenaline and relief were pounding through John's veins, impeding any sort of rational thought for a few moments. A light breeze was blowing Sherlock's curls around his head like a raven halo. The sight would have usually put a smile on John’s face. But even from a short distance, Sherlock was not at all ok. He was standing tall, but he somehow seemed folded into himself and John could tell how tightly he was gripping the guardrail. As if it was the only stable thing tethering him to the ground.  


........

It had just been a run of the mill argument. Nothing they hadn't gone through a million times since they became flatmates. John had been sitting in his chair, blogging about their latest unsolved case when the door separating the sitting room from the kitchen slammed, almost making him drop his laptop.

"John! What in God's name did you do?" shouted Sherlock. He was standing in the doorway, his blue eyes blazing.

"Christ, Sherlock" John said, slowly getting up. "What's wrong?"

Not a word left Sherlock's mouth. The detective just pointed towards the kitchen. Confused and more than a little stunned, John rose from his chair and walked over to Sherlock. The detective was angrily pointing at the counter where a bowl of eyeballs and a bag of various fingers sat idle.

"Oh, those!" John said. "Yeah, I moved them there. I didn't feel like having them near our food,"

Sherlock's usually pale cheeks were now flushed pink.

"Do you have ANY idea how long I had been collecting data on those? I was testing blood coagulation and now my experiment is completely ruined!"

John felt the beginnings of a fire crawling up his neck and into his face. 

"Sherlock, I'm sorry, but do you know how many times I've opened that fridge to find remnants of your little experiments? Some of them are not quite human. So you'll forgive me if I moved the damn eyeballs!"

Sherlock let out a laugh dripping with venom and sarcasm, and rubbed his eyes.

"It is really not getting through your silly little mind, is it?"

"Excuse me?" John asked, leaning against the table. Now the heat was rising into his head.

"Your vacant little brain can AFFORD to just dismiss my work or ANY pursuit of knowledge. Mine cannot!" Sherlock shouted.

John's shock and anger, complete with cartoonish jaw movements, only served as fodder for Sherlock to continue.

"Unlike you, the idea of spending my days tapping drivel into a computer and running through facts about the sun and the moon, I slave away trying to keep my brain from dissolving into any semblance of everyone else's. But that's exactly what you seem set on doing. Because it's all about you!"

Sherlock roughly pushed past John to grab the bowl and bag, unceremoniously tossing them back into the fridge. The heat in John's head was now a small blaze in his hair follicles.

"Absolutely.... because when I picked up your sodding chips for you at 2 AM, that was about me,"

Sherlock turned around from the fridge. John's voice was dangerously soft.

"What?"

"Or when I stayed by the bloody toilet with you all of yesterday morning while you emptied the contents of your intestines, I was thinking about myself. "

"I never asked you to...." Sherlock began, but he was abruptly cut off.

"And when I run my brain raw trying to keep you happy when you sit in that goddamn chair of yours, brooding over nothing, it is categorically all about FUCKING ME!"

John's face was now a twisted mask of lividity. His voice was still steady and in control, but that control was waning.

"At no point do I EVER ask you to prostrate yourself at my feet and coddle me like a child," Sherlock shouted. 

"Believe me, I have Mycroft for that! Besides, I know how much it strokes your tiny ego,"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Oh, right!" John shouted, whatever control he had gone. "I mean, it is just SO FULFILLING for me to turn my life upside down to accommodate as ungrateful a shit as you!" The blaze in his head was roaring so viciously that he didn't notice that he had advanced on Sherlock with his open palm raised. 

The plate crashing against the wall behind him brought him back to the present. Sherlock was inches away from his face, his blue eyes icy with terror and his curls a chaotic mess around his cheeks.

"Don't... you ever..." The words stumbled out of Sherlock's mouth, halting and gasping. The pair stared at each other for what felt like years, lost in their own separate realities of hurt and confusion. Suddenly, Sherlock turned on his heel and ran out the door. Still in shock, John barely registered the door slamming and the hurried, frantic footsteps down the stairs. 

Ten minutes passed before John moved from where he was practically glued to the table. He took stock of the state of the kitchen. The smithereens of the plate were in a corner of the wall by the sink. Still numb, he walked over to the corner and knelt down next to the broken pieces. He picked a blue and white fragment up and held it in his hand, turning it over between his fingers. A present. It had been a present from Mrs. Hudson when they had announced their engagement. One of a set. God, she had practically thrown it at them when they told her...

Instinctively knowing that he should clean up, he grabbed a nearby broom and swept up the broken pieces. He left them in the dustpan and then went about making himself tea. As he sipped the warm liquid, clear thoughts slowly started forming in his mind. What the hell had happened? They'd had their fair share of disagreements over the course of their relationship (hell, more than the average couple) and it had never come to this. 

But the look in Sherlock's eyes...

_Pure terror._

__He'd seen resignation, white-hot rage, annoyance, even the slightest bit of anxiety but... never that scared._ _

__John finally decided on inaction. Sherlock would come to his senses, walk through that door and they would act like nothing had happened. Maybe Sherlock might make a quiet comment or apology (or maybe both, but John knew better) and John would understand. He always did._ _

__******  
John was still telling himself this. Five hours later. _ _

__And Sherlock still hadn't come home._ _

__Now John was worried._ _

__"He's probably out wandering the street and sulking. Not like he hasn't done this before,"_ _

__But Sherlock's eyes kept pounding their image in his mind. This was something he couldn't shake. Something was wrong. Throwing the remainder of his tea (that had long gone cold) into the sink, he grabbed his coat and headed out the door.  
........_ _

__And here he was, by the bridge, looking utterly broken. The strongest, wisest, most human man he had ever met, looking so small broke John's heart into fractals. After what felt like an eternity, John took a deep breath and walked over to where Sherlock stood._ _

__Stillness against the rushing of London's streets._ _

__John stopped a few feet from him. Sherlock didn't give a sign that he knew John was there, but the latter knew better._ _

__"Sherlock?" John asked tentatively. Sherlock heard him, despite the lack of a response. John leaned against the guardrail, keeping a wide enough berth so as to not overwhelm him._ _

__"I got worried after our... and you didn't come back..."_ _

__John wanted to kick himself into next month for sounding so incoherent and weak. Still no response from Sherlock. John looked down at the water below them, hoping it would help him focus on stringing a proper sentence together._ _

__"Sherlock... back in the kitchen.... did you think I was going to hurt you?" John asked the water._ _

__There was a pause before Sherlock's husky, baritone voice whispered, "You already have,"_ _

__John's head snapped up and he met Sherlock's gaze, the latter having finally turned to face him. The detective's eyes were no longer burning with anger or frozen in terror. They were flooded and wet.... and sad._ _

__Devastatingly sad._ _

__"When?" John whispered dumbly._ _

__Sherlock took a deep, shaky breath._ _

__"St Bart's."_ _

__And John felt his heart sink through the soles of his feet and into the chaos below them. It all came back to him._ _

__His anger._ _

__The slap that sent the already dying Sherlock onto the floor._ _

__The kicks that would have broken ribs (or worst) if orderlies hadn't pulled him away._ _

__Sherlock's reassurances to those orderlies that it was alright. His quiet martyrdom._ _

__"Yes, you did", leaden with acid, spat through John's lips._ _

__How he almost lost Sherlock again that night._ _

__John scrubbed a hand over his face to stop the tears that were beginning to sting his eyelids. Words, useless and void, were continuing to fail him._ _

__"Sherlock," John began slowly. "I swear, on my mother's grave, I wasn't going to lay a hand on you,"_ _

__But was that true? In his anger, anything could have happened. And John knows it. A pause thick with anxiety followed before John tentatively held out his hand._ _

__"May I?" he whispered._ _

__John knew he had to right to ask this, but he... had to know that Sherlock wasn't going to evaporate before his eyes. Just as the pause was getting unbearable, Sherlock reached out his arm and took John's hand. The detective's musician's fingers, so delicate yet strong, between his own almost made John collapse. John closed the gap between them and, as gently as he could, slipped one hand onto Sherlock's lower back._ _

__"If you want me to stop, tell me," John said, gently running his palm over the material of Sherlock's coat. "I just.... I need you close,"_ _

__Sherlock, giving John's hand a squeeze without any coaxing, lowered his head between his shoulders and began to quietly sob._ _

__"Oh, Sherlock..." John whispered. He tightened his grip around Sherlock's waist and pressed his lips to Sherlock's coat sleeve. They stayed there; John holding his beloved and whispering how sorry he was, Sherlock purging years of trauma. After a while, Sherlock's sobs began to subside._ _

__"I've.... I've always relied on myself," Sherlock said, shakily. "Alone protected me when no one else could. But when I met you... I realized just how miserable I was. And you weren't like everyone else. You stayed, you protected me, more than I deserved and you...you made me realize that there was a point to it all,"_ _

__He gently extricated himself from John's grip, still keeping their hands interlocked. John, ignoring the tears already wetting his own cheeks, lifted his free hand to reach up to the detective's face. He pulled Sherlock down and kissed him as softly as he could._ _

__"Sherlock... I don't expect you to forgive me.... for any of it. I was cowardly, and afraid, and I blamed you for everything. And apologies will never change that, I know. But, I swear, I'll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you'll never be alone. I owe you...everything,"_ _

__Sherlock gave John a small smile and lifted his left hand._ _

__"I almost threw this into the water," he said, his right thumb caressing the ring there. "But I couldn't. Means too much to me,"_ _

__"Wouldn't have blamed you if you did," said John. The two briefly giggled before another pause ensued._ _

__"John, I.... I just need to be alone for a little bit," Sherlock said._ _

__John paused. He really didn't want Sherlock out on his own. But he had no right to stop him._ _

__"Alright...." John murmured. He kissed Sherlock's hand, his fingers lingering before turning and walking back towards the flat. The walk home was lonely and nerve wracking. He knew, since the day he met Sherlock, that the detective was special. And John didn't deserve him. He had traumatized and isolated the one who saved him, the one who gave him purpose.... the one who loved him._ _

__Once he reached the flat, he looked around the empty room. Not wanting to think about Sherlock, surrounded by the London darkness and his own demons, he turned on the telly and let the reality drama of Jeremy Kyle numb his brain._ _

__******_ _

__He must have fallen asleep. When he began coming to, he was curled up in the fetal position, his limbs retreating into his body. A blanket was over him and the silence implied that the telly had been turned off. He pulled his numb arm out from against his side and pushed himself up. As the blanket slipped off his frame, a silhouette jumped into his peripheral vision, startling him. When his eyes adjusted, his body was overcome with relief._ _

__Sherlock was sitting on the couch next to him, hunched over his knees with his fingers steepled under his chin and his eyes closed. He was breathing so shallowly you would think he wasn't, unless you listened. John knew he was firmly tucked away in his mind palace and wouldn't have felt it if the building collapsed around them. It took John a few moments to stop staring at Sherlock: His purple shirt that hugged his tall, thin frame just right, his chiseled jaw and cheekbones, his long eyelashes that brushed his cheekbones and de-aged him by years. My God..._ _

__

__Statues would be_ humbled _ by how beautiful he was. 

____

____

____

____Feeling a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, John threw the blanket off and scooted closer to Sherlock. He reached out and gently cupped the detective's cheek in his hand, letting his thumb slide along the sharp cheekbone. Suddenly, Sherlock's face twitched and he opened his eyes. He unfolded himself slowly and turned to face John. The soft smile he gave John lit up his whole face._ _ _ _

__

____As if in a choreographed sequence, John's hand left Sherlock's cheek to wrap around his waist while his other arm swung around Sherlock's shoulders, pulling the detective into his chest. Sherlock, simultaneously, wrapped both his arms around John's waist and buried his face into the ex-soldier's neck. The pair stayed glued together, feeling as much of the other as they could, breathing the other's air. If someone had looked in, they would have been amazed at how they fit together._ _ _ _

__

____"I was certain you weren't coming home," John murmured, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's neck._ _ _ _

__

____"I couldn't stay away from my compass," Sherlock murmured back. "And if you hold me any tighter, John, I fear one of my ribs may leave my ribcage."_ _ _ _

__

____Laughing, the two disentangled themselves, with the exception of their hands._ _ _ _

__

____"I didn't want to wake you when I came in," Sherlock said. "I went to my mind palace to figure out what I should say to you when you did,"_ _ _ _

__

____"You don't have to explain yourself, Sherlock," John said, running his fingers through the detective's curls.  
"Not to me and not after what I did."_ _ _ _

__

____"But I do," Sherlock said. "I know I am hard to live with. I am messy, disorganized, short tempered, arrogant, selfish, loud...."_ _ _ _

__

____Sherlock stopped when he noticed John smiling at him._ _ _ _

__

____"Your protests, John are overwhelming,"_ _ _ _

__

____John laughed, making Sherlock smile, in turn._ _ _ _

__

____"But you have been my constant; my companion, my lover. You've stayed and... I need you. Because.... Christ, I love you,"_ _ _ _

__

____John let Sherlock pull their faces together. They kissed long and softly_ _ _ _

__

____"I love you too," John said, when his mouth became free. "And I promise, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to treat you as you deserve: the kind, wise, thoughtful man who gave me my life back,"_ _ _ _

__

____The pair kissed once more before retreating to their bedroom. They each helped the other disrobe, Sherlock fumbling slightly which inspired another giggling fit. But they did not make love that night. John climbed under the covers first and invited Sherlock in beside him. The two melted together, feeling the protection and love from the other._ _ _ _

__

____"Your heartbeat's always felt comforting to me," Sherlock murmured. "Makes me feel less alone,"_ _ _ _

__

____John smiled and, coaxing Sherlock's face up to eye level, kissed every inch of Sherlock's face._ _ _ _

__

____"I'm not leaving you," he said._ _ _ _

__

____"Neither am I," Sherlock whispered back._ _ _ _

__

____As they settled back into each other's arms, John knew, without a doubt, that he would love, protect and better himself for Sherlock. He would do whatever it took to keep this man in his arms for the rest of his living days._ _ _ _

__


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little extra something to wrap up this little passion project of mine. I'd like to thank Prune_Cobbler for the inspiration.
> 
> Another special thank you to EVERYONE who read and commented. It warmed the little cockles of my heart to know that people were touched by my words <3 <3 <3

The heat of the morning sun on his face is what woke John up. He slowly blinked his heavy eyes until they became used to the surrounding shapes and forms of the room. It took him another moment to process that the weight on his chest was Sherlock. He looked down and felt a smile begin to etch itself into his face. Sherlock was still sound asleep, his unruly curls a pool across his profile. John gently brushed them away from Sherlock's face, so he could look at the detective's face. With the worry lines in his forehead relaxed and his eyelashes resting on his cheekbones, he looked at least ten years younger. He looked so....

_Peaceful._

After the events of last night, it was the greatest blessing John could hope for. With all the agility and dexterity he could manage, John extricated himself from Sherlock. He sat on the edge of the bed, letting his fingers gently pull themselves through Sherlock's curls. Pressing a quick and gentle kiss to Sherlock's forehead, John padded quietly out of the room and into the kitchen. 

With the kettle on and boiling, John began to putter around the kitchen. A wayward glance back towards the table made him notice his phone. Supposing he had left it there when he returned, John went to pick it up. As he cupped it in his hand, he closed his eyes and a rush of memories and colours flashed before him in rapid succession. Mary's death, St. Bart's, Sherrinford, last night... 

He knew what he had to do. 

He punched in the number on his phone and put the device on speakerphone. He didn't realize how hard his heart was beating or that he had begun shaking until a voice on the other end of the line spoke. 

"Hello?" 

Suddenly, John didn't know what to say. 

"Hello?" the voice repeated. 

"H..H..Hello Abigail," John stuttered out. "It's John." 

"Oh, hello John," Abigail said, her voice becoming pleasant. "It's been a while. How are you?" 

"Ummm... to be completely honest, not well." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "I assumed everything was alright since I hadn't heard from you. What's happening?" 

Before his brain could change its mind, John found himself recounting everything to his therapist. All of it. Tears were pooling on his cheekbones by the time he finished. 

"What I'm saying is... I really need to talk to you, Abigail," 

"Absolutely," Abigail said. "We can start regular appointments straight away. When do you want to start?" 

"How about later today? I know it's very last minute, so no problem if...." 

"Would today at three o'clock work for you?" replied Abigail. 

"Ummm... yes. That's perfect. Thank you. Thank you so much." 

"No problem, John. I'm very glad you're choosing to seek help." 

John couldn't help, but smile, as he quickly rubbed his sleeve across his face. "Let's say I have a pretty powerful motive." 

As John hung up, he heard rustling behind him. He turned around to find Sherlock standing there, wearing nothing but their bed sheets wrapped around his waist and a smile. 

"How long have you been standing there?" John asked. 

__

"Long enough." the detective replied. 

__

John gestured to his phone. "Did you hear?" 

"Every word." 

The two stood there, smiling and staring. 

__

There was no need for any explanations. 

In two strides, John had crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and pressed their foreheads together. Another eternity passed as they lost themselves in each other's eyes. Sherlock's oceans meeting John's forests. 

John let his fingers massage the back of Sherlock's neck before pulling him in for a kiss. They let their lips linger in its embrace before separating. The kiss felt different... more solid... 

____

_More safe._

After another bout of silence before Sherlock disentangled himself from John. 

"I'll be in the shower. You can join me, if you feel so inclined." 

Sherlock smiled his flirty smile and winked before turning and walking into the bathroom. John waited a beat before placing his phone back on the table and following Sherlock. 

He didn't need to be told twice.


End file.
